


In dreams

by RhinoHill



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Humour, Just a little bit of smut., Resolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoHill/pseuds/RhinoHill
Summary: What would you do if the person you loved finally told you how they felt?What would you do if they did it in their sleep?--oOo--
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 128
Kudos: 140





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SophieHatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieHatter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046507) by [SophieHatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieHatter/pseuds/SophieHatter). 



“Love you.”

The words reverberated through her as she finally drew back the covers to her own bed again. After a lifetime. After three days.

“Love you,” he had said.

But she didn’t know if he was aware of his words.

—oOo—

It was supposed to be a routine mission. An in-and-out geological survey.

Even though no-one else voiced it, Sam had viscerally felt the stab of guilt when the earthquake buried the gate and destroyed the local DHD mere minutes after their arrival. And she had thrown herself into the work of repairing it, or at the very least reorienting it to Earth’s altered co-ordinates, to the extent of ignoring their sleeping arrangements until daylight faded and she could work no more.

The people on PX20616 reminded her of childhood holidays with her grandmother. Smiling was their default expression, kindness their first response. She couldn’t stop herself imagining the smell of pumpkin pie when she saw the crinkled grin of the matriarch. So she shouldn’t have been surprised to find the Colonel leading her into a house rather than towards a tent, when he came to shut her down for the night.

The village doctor had offered them her spare room. The two of them, that was. Teal’c and Daniel were sharing the spare room in her First Assistant’s house.

“Carter.”

Something in his tone made her pause as she laid out the contents of her pack in her nightly ritual.

“Sir?”

He only halted in response.

Awkwardly, she continued unpacking next to her single bed.

“Uh. I may. I may get loud. My dreams aren’t — aren’t easy. At the moment.”

He busied himself with his own pack, almost as if his confession hadn’t happened at all.

Sam sat down slowly on her bed.

This was the first time he’d been off-world since they had rescued him from Ba’al’s stronghold, where he had daily been tortured to literal death before being revived in a sarcophagus, only to relive the entire experience.

The thought of it still made her stomach tighten.

And the thought that she had caused his torture by asking him to accept the symbiote that led him there.

Because she loved him too much to let him die.

She wet her lips with her tongue.

Now was not the time to wallow in her own feelings.

“Understood, Sir,” she said quietly.

“Anything I can do to help?”

He grimaced.

“No.”

A shrug of his left shoulder. A drop of defeat.

“Well. If you could shut me up before the doctor and her family kick me out for being possessed, that’d be great.”

“Of course, Sir.”

And she’d needed the memory of that promise when his screams pierced her sleep. They curdled her blood. They stopped her breathing.

Alert but hazy, she’d crossed from her narrow bed to his.

“Sir.”

She shook his shoulder as another death scream wracked his body.

“Sir, you’re dreaming, but you need to be quiet!”

She shifted her weight into the space behind his back, pressing her hand more firmly on his arm.

And suddenly, she was underneath him, his fingers clamped around her throat, his eyes bulging under the terror of his waking dream, of the deadly terror that was now also hers.

Her vision started to blacken at the edges.

“Sir,” she gasped.

“Sir, it’s me. It’s Carter. Let go.”

His hands tightened around her neck, iron shutting off her air.

“Please, Sir. Please. Let go. It's. me. Jack, please.”

Her words were a squeak.

“You won’t take her from me!”

His shout cut a swathe through the darkness crowding her head.

She clawed at his fingers, feeling his skin scraped under her nails. Training taught her that she had almost nine minutes to live. But after a few seconds more, she’d lose her ability to reason with him. She dug her hands in harder.

“Sir, I’m here. They haven’t taken anyone from you. I’m here with you. You’re safe. Please, Sir. Please. Let go.”

The pressure on her throat released a fraction.

“I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here,” she whispered as she massaged his wrists, easing them away from her windpipe.

“Oh God.”

She clutched her neck convulsively as she doubled over, gasping for breath after he released her and stumbled backwards across the room.

“Oh. Oh God. Carter. Sam. Are you okay?”

His words shuddered across the room.

Slowly, deliberately slowly, she dropped her arms and shifted to sit on the edge of his bed.

She turned her head to find him in the darkness.

“I’m fine. Sir, what happened?”

In Officers’ training, and again in the Black Ops update they received before going off-world for the first time for SGC, she’d learnt techniques for dealing with PTSD.

She knew, logically, she knew, that she should invite him to discuss his dreams; then gently pick apart the illogical events. The dead team-mate still alive, the missing limb still attached to his body.

Nothing had prepared her to discuss multiple deaths and resurrections with her commanding officer, though.

With the man she loved.

His steps creaked over the old wooden floorboards.

The narrow mattress sagged under his weight.

His body’s warmth reassured her, even as his fingerprints still smarted on her neck.

His shoulders hunched under the weight of this sigh.

“They don’t tell you what happens in the sarcophagus,” he breathed, huddled over to his knees.

“They warn you that it changes you. They don’t tell you about how.”

He sucked in a breath, as if invisible fingers clamped around his throat the way he’d squeezed himself around hers mere minutes before.

“When you’re in there. When you’re in the sarcophagus. You dream that you’re with the person you want to spend your life with. You dream of her. And they watch. And when you wake, they kill her. They make you watch her die.”


	2. That's one way to have my back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A knock on the door startled them both awake.
> 
> “Breakfast is ready,” Iren, their host, called merrily. 
> 
> By a miracle coincidence, she didn’t crack the door open this morning as she had the day before. Sam shot a thankful look at the sky. Explaining their position to the man curled into her arms was going to be awkward enough.
> 
> \--oOo--

“Carter.”

All day, as she worked on the damaged DHD’s electronics and the rest of her team helped the locals clear the earthquake’s debris, she had shifted the previous night out of her head. The way his eyes had followed her when she returned to her own bed. The twist of regret she’d thought she heard in his tone when he wished her a good rest of the night.

But her name in his mouth as she pulled back the rough linen sheets on her single bed, brought the closeness of his midnight confession crashing back.

“Sir?”

She wanted to see his eyes. To see if the emotion she thought she heard the night before would be reflected there again.

The left corner of his mouth tweaked up in a way that made fire pool in her belly, while at the same time making him look pained.

“Pin my wrists,” he said.

“Huh?” In a briefing, in a tense situation, she wouldn’t have moved. But she was about to get into bed. Her guard was down.

Her head jerked back in surprise. Her cheeks heated with the image. An image dangerously close to one she conjured on lonely nights in her bed when her hands brought her release and she imagined they belonged to him.

For a second, confusion at her reaction creased between his eyes. Then he shook it away, a determined cast to his mouth as he spoke on, softly, urgently.

“I have nerve damage in my right shoulder. If you pin my hands to my chest, I won’t have the strength to break free and…” he trailed off, his hand fluttering towards his own neck.

He looked down.

“I never want to do that to you again.”

She wished it was okay to sit down next to him, to pull his head onto her chest and let closeness ease the lonely horror he had faced. With Daniel or with Teal’c, she’d done it before. But with them, she hadn’t thrilled at the thought of their scent, hadn’t imagined the scratch of their stubble on the tender skin above her shirt. She couldn’t risk crossing that line. Not tonight. Not when he needed a friend.

She nodded instead, the uselessness of her response making her body sag around her heart.

“Understood, Sir,” she whispered.

\--oOo--

His whimpers pierced her restless sleep. They had not yet turned into the screams of the night before, but already he was jerking sharply, his hands working at the air. She hovered over his agonised form, trying to find an angle to grab and pin his wrists to his chest without toppling herself off balance if he pulled away. Only two options seemed safe: straddling him, or grabbing him from behind.

His voice rose into a mumbled word, galvanising her into action.

Easing her body onto the edge of his bed, she reached her right arm under his sheet and clamped his right wrist — his weak wrist — to his chest. She anticipated his response and used his nightmare thrashing to slide her left arm under his back and loop it around his left wrist. Her chest pressed into his back, her muscles straining to contain him even in his sleep.

“Shhh, It’s okay,” she whispered, “it’s me. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Sam?” His words still held the sing-song quality of dream-speak. She had penetrated his dream, but not woken him. Maybe that was better.

“Yes. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Stay behind me, Sam.” He mumbled. “Don’t let them see you. If they see you they’ll kill you.”

“There’s no-one else here. You’re safe, Jack.”

She started to pull away, praying he was close enough to the edge of his dream to awaken without terror, but his hand shot out and clamped hers to his chest, a strange reversal of her pinning grasp.

“Stay behind me, Sam. Its the only way I can protect you. Please.”

Even in sleep, his hands gripped her painfully. She relaxed against him, hoping to reassure him. It worked. His fever-grip on her fingers softened and his breathing deepened.

\--oOo--

A knock on the door startled them both awake.

“Breakfast is ready,” Iren, their host, called merrily.

By a miracle coincidence, she didn’t crack the door open this morning as she had the day before. Sam shot a thankful look at the sky. Explaining their position to the man curled into her arms was going to be awkward enough.

His thumb traced across the back of her palm, causing the fine hair on her arms to prickle with pleasure.

She wet her lips, searching the the nape of his neck for words to make this okay.

“Hi, Sir,” she eventually said, lamely.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Well. That’s one way to have my back, Carter.”

The smile she could hear in his voice dulled the fierce blush that shrank her away from him,but not enough to keep it completely hidden. Pulling abruptly out of his grasp, she scooted up to sitting, lifted the covers and stumbled on unwilling legs back to her own bed.

She busied her hands gathering her toiletries.

“I dreamed again, didn’t I.” His voice held an apology that slowed her movements.

She paused. Nodded. Not trusting her voice.

“But it ended differently last night. Every time, they find you and they-“ he clamped his mouth shut on the rest of the thought. “But last night I dreamt you hid behind my back and they never saw you.”

His silence stretched until concern outpaced her awkwardness and she turned to face him.

Brown eyes bored into hers.

“You did that. You changed the ending. Thank you, Carter.”


	3. Little Spoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I ever hear the words Little Spoon out of Teal’c or Daniel’s mouths, I swear to God you will be on latrine duty for every off-world mission for the rest of your life, Carter,” he growled.
> 
> He was back. The rock in the pit of her stomach regained its precious red glow and rose back to her heart.
> 
> “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir,” she shot back, “or they’d all want to try.”
> 
> \--oOo--

By mid-afternoon, it was clear that his frequent visits to the DHD where she was working, were more than coincidence. He wanted to find her alone. Of course, that was difficult when the entire village was crowding around to ogle or to help. 

Sam realised what was going on, but made no attempt to move the curious children and tech-minded teens along. Last night looped again and again behind her eyes. 

Two nights ago, he told her that Ba’al had made him watch the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with being tortured to death over and over. This morning he told her they had always found her and killed her before. 

He had pretty much told her he wanted to spend his life with her. 

She closed her eyes, shutting out the world for just a moment, clutching the realization to her chest like a ruby. 

As the sun dipped behind the mountains and people started drifting home to prepare dinner, he reappeared, nonchalantly tossing one of her capacitors in the air as he offered to walk her back to Iren's house. Nerves squelched around her ruby. What if he mentioned his confession? Worse, what if he didn’t?

He chose the right fork in the tree-lined path. It was longer, quieter, and led through bird-filled woodland. Silently, she followed him.

Less than a minute in, it happened. 

“Carter, about last night.”

Her stomach lurched. 

“Yes, sir?”

“I think I should bunk down with the boys instead.”

Sam stumbled.

“What? Why!”

Her face burned. This was not what she had expected. He hated that he’d confessed. He didn’t want to be around her. The ruby fell into the pit of her belly; a cold, dull stone with sharp edges. 

She was three paces ahead by the time she noticed he had stopped walking. Slowly, willing her face to be expressionless, she turned back to him. 

Tenderness radiated from his soft brown eyes, the pained tweak of his lips. 

“Because you deserve a good night’s sleep,” he said gently. 

Her hands twitched at her sides. She curled them into silent fists.

“I slept just fine, Sir.”

She wanted to push through. To tell him that she felt the same. That his love was her most precious possession. But the regulations clamped an iron hand across her mouth. What if he was trying to distance himself from her to stop her from breaking the rules? Because he could feel that she _wanted_ to be in his bed, and wanted to stop her from crossing the line when she clearly couldn’t?

Her eyes dropped to the leaf-littered earth.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep behind you last night. It won’t happen again.”

Leaves scattered with the force of his approaching footsteps. His hand grabbed her fingers.

“Carter, God, that’s not what I meant!”

“It — it’s not?” Her voice was a schoolgirl squeak. For fuck’s sake. Why did he make her feel so stupid? Why couldn’t he just be a naquidah reactor?

“It’s not.”

He sighed into the silence, tugging her gently back into a walk, but keeping so close to her that their upper arms nestled together.

“As long as you’re sure you can get the rest you need despite my dreams,” he said softly as the birds twittered their approval from the canopy above them.

They weren’t alone again until the door to their shared bedroom closed behind them for the night.

And he didn’t wait long to speak again.

“Sam?” He asked as she drew the covers of her narrow bed over her.

“Sir?” She pulled the rough sheet a little more tightly around her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees.

He stepped around the foot of his bed, hovering in the space between his and hers. Eventually, he sank down onto the edge of his mattress.

“Can I talk to you as Jack? I — this isn’t a conversation to have with your CO.”

She nodded around her wildly hammering heart.

He steepled his fingers between his knees and spoke to them. “I haven’t slept through the night since I got back. I… hope I don’t need you to do that for me again, but-“

“I don’t mind, Si— Jack.”

His name was warm in her mouth. Sweet. Forbidden. She rushed on, ignoring the heat it spread in her belly. “You’ve saved me from my nightmares before and you will again.” _You came back, Jack. You came back to me._ “It’s the least I could do.”

His fingers wrung around each other in unspoken agony. The silence stretched on, taut and heavy.

“Besides,” she forced levity into her voice to break the spell he was caught in, the best she could manage without rushing to cradle him to her, “you’re a surprisingly comfortable little spoon.”

It worked. His shoulders unclenched and a real grin split his face.

“If I ever hear the words Little Spoon out of Teal’c or Daniel’s mouths, I swear to God you will be on latrine duty for every off-world mission for the rest of your life, Carter,” he growled.

He was back. The rock in the pit of her stomach regained its precious red glow and rose back to her heart.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir,” she shot back, “or they’d all want to try.”

She had to be quick to catch the pillow he pitched at her head.

—oOo—

The whimpers rose to cries quickly that night. Without hesitation, she felt her way through the darkness to his bed, lifted the covers and slid in, encircling him in her arms.

“I’m here Jack. It’s Sam. I’m here. Right behind you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Sam?” He mumbled, still asleep, his voice still laced with terror.

“Yes, Jack. I’m here. And I’ll stay behind you so they’ll never find me. We’re both safe.”

Breath by breath, the tension left his body, his back melted into her chest.

When she was certain he was lost to sleep again, she shifted into a more comfortable position, pressing the length of her legs against the warmth of his thighs, twisting her head to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“Love you.”

He was asleep. She was sure of it. His body stayed relaxed against her, his hands didn’t move under her palms. But there was no mistaking his words.

She closed her eyes in the darkness, reliving the memory over and over until she knew it would stay with her forever, every scent, each sensation. Her amulet.

She let her head tip closer to his neck, breathing him in.

“I love you too, Jack,” she whispered to his sleeping form.

Slowly, his fingers moved, lacing into hers in the dream-filled night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love you"
> 
> Those words snagged in my soul and made "Home" by @SophieHatter magic.
> 
> This chapter, more even than the fun to come (and I plan on there being fun to come!), is my thank you.
> 
> xo


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could hear him taking a breath on the other end of the line.
> 
> Tension suddenly hummed in her ear when he spoke again, even though his tone was casual.
> 
> “I bet you’re happy to have your bed to yourself again.”
> 
> It was the hurt in his words, the honesty, that made her cross the boundary from safe to real.
> 
> She could deal with the consequences tomorrow.
> 
> \--oOo--

Waking up with him was the most natural thing in the world. As she drifted back into her body to call out thanks in response to Iren’s morning knock on their bedroom door, his fingers shifted between hers, his thumb drawing that same soft circle as the day before. 

“Mornin’,” he murmured. 

“Hi.” _Jack._ His name sat on her tongue, fat and round. But she held it like a secret.

“Mmm. ‘Nother dream?” His words were still lazy with sleep.

He didn’t remember. 

She bit her lip to ward off the cut of disappointment.

“Yeah.”

His sigh pulled her out of her self-pity. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “I hoped I had finally snapped out of it.”

They lay in silence for a minute. A deranged corner of her mind imagined they could stay like this forever. That the rest of the planet would forget about them and give her a day to do nothing except hold him. Be with him. Just Sam and Jack. 

“Well, this version of the dream is better than the one before, at least, thanks to you.”

Sam huffed out a mirthless laugh. 

“Waking up next to me is better than being repeatedly tortured to death by a deranged alien overlord. Thanks, sir. I’ll be sure to add that ringing endorsement to my online dating profile.”

“Smartass.”

He squeezed her fingers, then slipped out of her reach. He rolled up to sit on the edge of the bed with his back to her. 

“Thank you, Carter.” He was sincere. She could hear it. Yet tension had crept into his shoulders.

The floor under her feet was as cold as the sense that he was holding something back from her. That certainty tied itself into a knot in her chest when he spoke again, still without looking at her.

“You take the bathroom first.”

What had she done to annoy him? She nodded, even as she realised he couldn’t see her because he remained turned away. Grabbing her toiletries and towel, she fled the room as air squeezed out of her chest.

And all day, even as the DHD finally blinked back to life and the gate whooshed open, as they said their goodbyes to the villagers, as they passed through medical checks and debriefings back at SGC, he avoided being alone with her and she struggled to breathe. Her drive home passed in a daze, and a long bubble bath with a glass of wine, her homecoming ritual, only partly eased the constriction around her heart.

Often, she slid between the sheets naked, revelling in the contrast of cool linen on hot skin, letting the smooth, clean fabric morph into his BDUs against her body in the darkness of her bed, letting her hands become his as she chased her longing away with physical release, with cool sheets against hard nipples, with sighs of his name into the night.

But tonight she needed comfort, safety. Not the reminder of his body, warm in her arms and then turned away from her. As if he regretted their closeness.

She pulled on soft flannel pyjama bottoms with tiny sky blue daisies picked out on a butter yellow background and a tank top.

Despite the tiredness that gate travel always brought on, she drew out her homecoming ritual, padding from room to room, focusing on the sensation of soft carpet and old wood against her bare feet as she watered her plants, pinched off dead leaves, drew the curtains, switched off lights.

With a sigh of regret she locked the front door and turned off the hall light. In the gloom, the bedside light in her room beckoned her to lonely rest.

The second she clicked off the light, her phone rang. His name flashed on the screen, the only illumination in the room.

“Hullo, Sir,” she answered. “Is everything all right?”

There was a short silence on the line.

“Fine. Fine.” He sounded nervous. The knot in her chest tightened again. “Sam, it’s Jack tonight, okay?”

She smiled at the silver shadows surrounding her, sipping in a deep breath of sweet air as the knot melted away.

“Hi, Jack.”

She closed her eyes, tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her left arm around them, the way she had sat the night before when, a galaxy away, he had talked to her as Jack for the very first time.

His jokes flowed like a mountain stream, tugging laughter and retorts from her, until she wiggled under the covers and lay back in the darkness, letting their easy conversation bring her peace.

“So, what are you happiest about, being home again?” He asked.

“Hmmm. Seeing my plants.” She smiled to herself in the darkness, knowing how silly that must sound but how true it really was. “I’ve got watering systems rigged for each of them that will keep them alive for three months. But I miss talking to them.” She chuckled at herself. “I like to think they miss me, too. But they probably enjoy the quiet when I’m away.”

She could hear him taking a breath on the other end of the line.

Tension suddenly hummed in her ear when he spoke again, even though his tone was casual.

“I bet you’re happy to have your bed to yourself again.”

It was the hurt in his words, the honesty, that made her cross the boundary from safe to real.

She could deal with the consequences tomorrow.

She had survived one day with him avoiding her already. If that was the price she had to pay for easing his dreams, so be it.

She wet her lips with her tongue. Her hand slid to the cold sheet next to her.

“Actually,” she said softly, “it’s really empty.”

Her heart thudded into the pause that followed.

“Sam.”

His voice was gruff.

“I’m at your door.”


	5. In Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up with him was the most natural thing in the world. Her head cradled on his arm, his hand tucked under her tank top and resting, warm and sure, on the skin of her back, his knee between her legs. 
> 
> Sam whimpered with contentment as the sound of his phone alarm drew her out of sleep into that blissful morning in-between where nothing exists except your lover’s touch.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. Feel free to shout at me after this chapter!   
> I probably deserve it.
> 
> Heck, maybe I even like it shouty! ;->
> 
> Happy belated birthday, @ConnieN.
> 
> \--oOo--

Her footsteps were muted on the way to the front door. At least, they sounded that way against he thundering of her heartbeat.

She drew back the bolt and pulled the door towards her, her right hand still clasping the phone to her ear.

His uncertain, crooked grin was haloed by the porch light.

“Hi,” he spoke into his own phone, his voice echoing itself at her through her handset. Slowly, he lowered his arm and ended the call.

Thoughts built into conversations in her head and crumbled into empty syllables while he shifted from foot to foot.

“Look, I didn’t mean to… I should go,” he said uncomfortably, turning away.

“No! No, come in, stay. Have you eaten? Sorry about my pyjamas. Can I get you a drink?” Once the words started, they all tumbled out, tripping over each other with barely a pause for his monosyllabic and increasingly amused responses.

He followed her as she babbled, walking close enough that she could smell his deodorant, fresh and woody. Past the kitchen, past the living room.

In the doorway to her bedroom, she suddenly stilled.

He was here.

She had imagined the day he would come to her bed in a hundred different ways on a thousand different nights, imagined desperate kisses, hands tearing at clothes to get closer to each other’s skin. Him pushing her up against the wall in his haste. Or her pushing him down on the bed and straddling him, ripping his shirt over his head so she could run her hands over his shoulders and down to his hips as she moved against him.

She had never imagined it like this.

The air thickened as his soft chuckle at her frantic questioning died on his lips.

“Carter.” The two syllables held a lifetime of regret.

He sighed.

“I’m sorry. I have no right to ask this of you. I’ll go see the doc in the morning and get her to give me sleeping pills or something. Go see a shrink. Get myself sorted out.”

She twisted to face him, searching the shadows of his face for a sign he knew what he was saying. “But she’ll take you off active duty.”

Jack paced to the window, his back to her. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Maybe that’s the right thing. If I’m too scared to sleep without-“ a fraction of a pause “-a member of my team holding me, then I’m not sure I am fit to lead you.”

He didn’t want her to see his face. She understood that, but she couldn’t bear the distance between them. Crossing to stand just behind his left shoulder, she reached out to take his hand.

“Sir, with respect, you’re recovering from your own death. No-one has a therapy technique for that. And,” she forced her voice past the tightness that the thought brought to her throat, “And you only went through that because I asked you to take the symbiote.”

He turned, mouth open to protest, but she pushed on. She had to say it.

“No, it’s true. So if I can help you now, I want to. Please. Let me do this for you.”

His eyes searched hers in the moonlight. He said nothing. But he didn’t pull his hand away.

After a minute, she broke the silence, shaping her love into a teasing grin.

“Would it help if I told you to stop wasting my time and get under the covers? I’m getting cold.”

He huffed a small laugh and looked down at their interlaced fingers.

“Well okay then.” Sam deepened her voice and affected her best Hammondian drawl.

“Stop wasting my time and get under the covers, Colonel. I’m getting cold.”

Without waiting, she walked back to her side of the bed and slid between the sheets, closing her eyes to give him privacy. She heard his shoes placed on the floor one by one, the rustle of his shirt sliding down his arms, the pop and zip of his jeans opening. Grateful for the darkness that hid the colour rising in her cheeks, she waited, deepening her breath.

A waft of cool air hit her chest as he drew back the covers on his side of the bed. She felt the mattress dip as he lay down and the tug on the sheet when he eased it back over himself.

In the darkness that followed, she smiled. It was not what she imagined. But he loved her. And he was in her bed.

She felt him shift, and his hand reached into the space between them, finding her arm and sliding along it until his hand was back in hers.

“Thanks, Sam,” he murmured. “Good night.”

—oOo—

Waking up with him was the most natural thing in the world. Her head cradled on his arm, his hand tucked under her tank top and resting, warm and sure, on the skin of her back, his knee between her legs.

Sam whimpered with contentment as the sound of his phone alarm drew her out of sleep into that blissful morning in-between where nothing exists except your lover’s touch.

As he rolled away to silence his alarm, she groaned in protest and rolled closer to him.

And came to rest half on top of him, her arm trapped under his back, her belly pressing into a straining erection. God, he felt so good. She wanted him inside her. She shifted her hips forward to feel more of him against her, moaning as his heat met the growing wetness at her core.

“Carter.”

His strained word snapped her awake.

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit._ She hadn’t dreamt it. Shit. It was really him, in her bed, and she was grinding herself against him. _Shit._

Underneath her, he was sipping in short, shallow breaths, strain showing in his mouth.

“Um. Sorry,” she squeaked, pulling her hand out from under him and bracing it next to his torso to rise up and roll away.

The action only opened her further on to his length, making him grunt and his cock twitch against her.

He slid his hand on to the bare skin of her hips, holding her steady, easing her weight off him. His eyes were midnight dark and stormy.

_Shit_.

“Sorry, sir,” she tried again. Her eyes drifted to his mouth. Her cheeks burned with the memory of his lips on her in her dream. “I was dreaming.” _Dreaming of you, Jack._

She swallowed, licked her lips, forced her voice to sound steady. “But you didn’t dream last night.” She paused. “Did you?’

His breath deepened slightly. His lips worked around words.

“Not that dream,” he said eventually.

The moment she tried to move, his hands lifted her free of his body and set her down next to him.

He rolled up and away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, the same posture as the day before.

For a heady second, she wondered if that was what he was trying to hide from her in Iren’s spare bedroom. Thank God she hadn’t made a fool of herself like that while they were still off-world and constantly in each other’s company.

Not that this was exactly comfortable.

“Can I make you some coffee?” She asked. “Would you like to take a shower first?”

“No, I must go. Thank you.”

He heaved up off the bed, pulling on clothes and socks and shoes with his back turned.

She drew her knees up to her chest, clasped her arms around her ankles.

Desire and discomfort warred with concern about his state of mind. You need to be cleared using standard tests after admitting psychological damage. But no tests existed for what he had been through. If he admitted trouble to Janet, he may never return to active duty again. 

“Sir,” her voice caught him as he rose from tying his shoelaces. “Don’t go to Janet today. Give it one more day. And come for dinner tonight. We can talk. About it. Maybe it will help.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay, Carter. I’ll see myself out. See ya at the office.”

He left without making eye contact.

The front door rattled closed, His truck door slammed.

It was dangerous. A foolish thing to do. But as his truck started up and drove away, she sank back against the pillow he had used, closed her eyes, breathed in his lingering closeness, and slid her trousers off, letting her fingers chase the thrill of feeling him against her, raising her hips to meet her hand on her throbbing nub, moaning his name as she brought herself lonely, shuddering release.


	6. Mace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if he could sense her turmoil, he twisted back to her.  
> “Carter?”  
> He spoke quietly.  
> “Are you alright?”
> 
> Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes.  
> If only he hadn’t asked.
> 
> The words collected in her throat, threatening to choke her if she didn’t speak. The careful grip on her control that had started slipping when she woke up with his hand on the small of her back, slid out of her reach.
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unicorns, sharing these stories with you helps me process things, and for that I am indescribably grateful to you.
> 
> This week, a friend woke up in Covid-ICU, only to find out that her husband had never made it off his ventilator.  
> At the same time, I have several friends in the police force who joined to commit their lives to being a force for good, and are now grappling with criticism of their institution and their own belief in its values, as #BlackLivesMatters continues to ripple through the world.
> 
> Sam's tears and doubts are my emotions, and being able to get them out from under my skin, being able to share them with people who hold each other up and look out for each other, means more than I can say.
> 
> Thank you for being you.  
> And don't worry, this chapter has the happy ending we all deserve.  
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

Steam rising from the cubes of seasoned lamb in her skillet made the short hair that framed her face dance. Sam sucked in a breath in preparation, and dropped her finger into the bubbling pan, raising it to her mouth a split second before the burning liquid started to sting her skin. The seasoning was perfect; dusky, deep and sweet. She pushed at the slices of roasted eggplant in the deep glass dish that would be used to assemble the meal and wrapped her hand around the bottle of red wine to check its temperature.

All day, they had skirted each other at work. All day, she had thought of the way they had woken up — how natural it had been to have his hands on her skin.

All day, she had fought emotion.

Love wasn’t meant to be this hard.

She felt hollow without him here. Yet, when the knock on her front door signaled his arrival, she wished she had had more time to prepare.

“Hey, Sir.”

She took in the two bottles of wine, the two six-packs of beer, dangling from his fingers when she opened the door.

He was wearing a soft flannel shirt that she wanted to rub her cheek against.

“Uh. You didn’t say what time, or, uh, how many people’d be coming.”

He half-grinned his apology as she pulled the door open to let him in.

“And, um, can I be Jack, just Jack tonight?”

His presence brought light to her sadness.

“I think that’ll be enough for the two of us,” she smiled.

In the kitchen, she handed him the bottle opener and stirred the béchamel sauce while he poured two glasses and rummaged in the fridge to make space for the beer.

He grabbed the wooden spoon and stirred the vegetables browning on the stove while he updated her on the fortunes of his favourite hockey team and the latest film Teal’c had watched at his urging: Mars Attacks.

Sam snorted at the thought of Teal’s reaction to the director’s interpretation of aliens. When she was a child, she had devoured sci-fi. Now that she lived it, she couldn’t watch it anymore.

 _This is nice_ , she thought as she chopped the parsley.

A red-hot bubble of resentment broke free, speeding up her breathing.

She tamped it down.

“So what’re you makin’?” He leaned against the counter, facing her. “Smells exotic.”

“Moussaka. It’s Turkish. My grandmother on my mother’s side was Syrian, and they shared a lot of traditional dishes…”

She trailed off, embarrassed at her monologue.

“Syrian, huh? I always assumed Swedish, because of your eyes and your—“

His hand hovered in front of his chest. Something she couldn’t define thickened the air. He looked at her for a fraction longer than she expected, then turned abruptly towards the pots on the stove.

He plucked a cube of buttery lamb out of the skillet and sucked the meat, and his fingers, between his lips.

“Mmm. Good.”

His words were rich and round under the lamb on his tongue.

“Is that cinnamon? And something else? Nutmeg?”

A torrent of feeling crashed down from the ceiling. More than anything in the world, she wanted to kiss him, to taste the sweet, spicy richness on his tongue.

But anger, raw and bitter, pulsed through a jagged crack in her dream. The knife she was chopping the parsley with vibrated in her hand.

As if he could sense her turmoil, he twisted back to her.

“Carter?”

He spoke quietly.

“Are you alright?”

Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes.

If only he hadn’t asked.

Her heart thudded. She swung away from him, then snapped back round. The words collected in her throat, threatening to choke her if she didn’t speak. The careful grip on her control that had started slipping when she woke up with his hand on the small of her back, slid out of her reach.

“No. No I’m not alright,” she started, reluctant, desperate to breathe again. “I’m furious. You died! How can I be alright?”

She set the knife down behind her without looking. It toppled off the edge and clattered to the floor, spraying shards of green around her feet.

He stood. Silent.

A dam inside her chest broke open. Liquid rage poured out and caught fire under her skin.

“You died, Jack! I love you, and I lost you, and I couldn’t mourn because we work together and so I’m not allowed to care!

“You died saving our planet, and yet you can’t ask for help in case the system labels you as damaged or weak and pushes you out.”

She smelt crushed green as she stepped out and onto the parsley scattered under her feet.

“I’ve given my whole life to the Air Force. And I’ve never doubted my decision. But who are they to tell me who I can love?”

“I’m tired, Sir, Jack.” A tear slid down her cheek.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to be asleep before I tell you that I love you. And I don’t know how to believe in an institution that makes it a crime.”

She smudged her fist across her cheek.

“And it’s mace,” she said, looking at her feet.

“What?” His word was strung taut.

“Mace. It’s the layer that surrounds the nutmeg. It’s milder. It’s used a lot in Middle-Eastern cooking.”

She couldn’t bear it anymore. She crouched down and started gathering the fallen parsley.

“Sam.”

His voice was almost a whisper. His feet appeared in front of her on the floor. A warm hand wrapped around her arm and guided her up to standing.

His thumb wiped the tear tracks she had angrily smudged across her cheeks, as tenderly as if she were a flower.

This was not what she needed. She needed space to regain control, not this care she craved so much. She needed him to remind her of her rank, not these quiet touches that made her skin prickle and her body ache to hold him.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop its trembling.

“Sam, look at me.”

She had never heard such care in four short words.

They made the last of her resolve crumble into dust.

Despite the tears that welled in her eyes and spilt over his thumb, despite her anger at her own weakness, she lifted her eyes from the floor.

His face radiated pain and understanding.

He cupped her face between his palms. His mouth pressed softly onto hers.

When she parted her lips, he followed, slowly, gently.

His hands moved, stroking her hair, cradling her head, nestling her closer, deepening their kiss.

When she wrapped her arms around him, he stepped in, pressing his body to hers, his heat radiating on to her.

His touch brought her peace. Finally, her trembling eased.

He broke off their kiss, and smiled at the whimper that escaped her at the loss of his lips.

“I’m not stoppin’—“ he leaned his body in closer, his need for her hot and honest against her belly, fuelling the sweet burning at her core, “—but there’s somethin’ I gotta say.”

“I love you, Samantha Carter,” he whispered before his mouth reclaimed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever read a fic so poignant, so perfect, that you wake up months later thinking about it? A fic so memorable it grows in your mind in the night, until you no longer know where the original stops and your reimagining of it begins?
> 
> @SophieHatter does that to me regularly. And "Home" is the epitome of a fic that wouldn't let me go.
> 
> "In Dreams" is my tribute to an incredible story by an awesome writer. If you liked this fic, do yourself a favour and read "Home". Then read EVERYTHING else by SophieHatter! ;)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046507


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